Brought to you by the editorial staff at The Eleventh Draft, a stolen excerpt from one of our favorite books, usually fiction. This will change periodically.
While we steal the paragraph or two, we encourage you to buy the book (by clicking here and having your credit card ready), and then, I assume, we encourage you to read it during the commercial breaks of "So You Think You Can Dance."
From The Forever War
By Dexter Filkins
It was 4 A.M., and Omohundro had taken some marines to a roof to survey the way ahead when a voice came over the radio. It was Bravo Company's fire-support team, called Fist, which coordinated air support and artillery. The Fist officer told Omohundro that he'd just gotten a call from Basher, the radio name of the AC-130 gunship hovering above us. He called Omohundro by his radio name, Beowulf Six.
“Beowulf Six, this is Fist,” the voice said. “Basher has spotted numerous armed men on a roof next to you. Basher requests permission to fire.”
Basher had been spotting insurgents all week long and killing them from the air. Sometimes the insurgents were as close as fifty yards. Or just around the corner. Basher was a fearsome thing: it had a Gatling gun that fired an astonishing 1,800 rounds a minute; hence its terrible burping sound. And it had a howitzer that could shoot as fast as a shotgun.
Omohundro told everyone to get down. Then he crept to the south side of the roof and peeked over the ledge, half expecting to draw gunfire. He didn't see anyone. The radio crackled.
“Basher has spotted numerous armed individuals moving to the west wall,” the fire-support officer said.
Omohundro crept across the roof again to get a look at the building's west wall. He didn't see anyone, which wasn't, under the circumstances, all that unusual; in the dark the insurgents were sometimes very near.
“Basher is requesting permission to fire,” the fire-support officer said. The Basher crew was going to use its howitzer. It was going to be a big one.
The radio crackled again. The fire-support officer gave Omohundro the coordinates of the target. Omohundro peered into his GPS, but in the darkness couldn't make out the numbers. He didn't want to light up his GPS for fear of tipping off the insurgents to his presence. Instead, he ordered one of his men to plant an infrared strobe beacon on the roof to show Basher exactly where we were. Omohundro was worried about shrapnel from the target exploding so close.
“Tell Basher they are clear to fire,” Omohundro said into the radio.
About ten seconds later, the fire-support officer came back on.
“So, Basher says the insurgents have their own infrared strobe beacon,” he said. “They've put it up on the roof. Basher is preparing to fire.”
Omohundro screamed into the radio.
“Basher, Basher, this is Beowulf! Abort! Abort! Abort goddamnit! Friendlies on the roof! Abort! Abort! Hold your fire! I say again, friendlies on the roof! Abort! Over?”
There was a pause on the radio. It was one of Basher's crew.
“Roger, aborting firing sequence,” the voice said. “Sorry about that.”
Another pause. Omohundro shook his head.
“Five more seconds and we were goners,” Omohundro said.
The radio crackled again. It was the fire-support officer.
“Sorry about that, Beowulf Six.”